


Head Held High (A Larry Stylinson fanfic, Medieval AU)

by HelloJello



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:52:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelloJello/pseuds/HelloJello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Harold Edward Milward Styles had always felt the pressure to prove himself worthy of the throne, especially in the eyes of his highly disappointed father. Thus, when a band of skilled rogues interrupts an execution and frees the convicted murderer, the prince disregards his father's stern command to stay out of the way. Instead, he goes after them, vowing to himself to capture and deal them justice, to prove his father wrong.</p><p>What he hadn't expected, however, was to meet Louis Tomlinson, the crafty, witty, and cheeky swordsman and leader of the criminal outlaws, who then helps him discover the dirty truth about his father's reign, the hidden struggle of the kingdom, and secrets about Harry the prince hadn't known himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there everybody, the name's Jello, and this is my first 1D fanfic! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. Apologies in advance if it sucks ass.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot, and a few made-up names of places and whatnot.

CHAPTER 1

 

People are often not who they appear to be.

                This is the thought on Harry’s mind as he stared at the lad in the ornately carved mirror before him. He wore a subdued blue tunic with his sleeves pushed up to the elbows, and a thick black belt, attached to which was his sword. His trousers were dark, as were his riding boots. Draped over his broad shoulders was a bright scarlet cape of the finest velvet, lined at the helm with silky fur and gathered at his chest by an encrusted ruby. On his head, delicately framed by dark curls, sat a glinting golden crown.

                To himself, he didn’t look like Harry. Instead, he looked more like Prince Harold Edward Milward Styles, next-in-line for Ouandire’s throne.

                “Ready, my lord?” one of the servants holding up the mirror asked.

                “As I’ll ever be,” Harry sighed before dismissing the servants, who bowed deeply and exited.

                It’s not that he didn’t _feel_ royal – he felt very royal, and his countless loyal subjects would never permit him to forget. It’s not that he didn’t _like_ being royal – it certainly came with many privileges that the prince himself liked to abuse occasionally.

                It’s just that he didn’t know if he _deserved_ to be royal – he firmly believed that respect was to be earned, and not born into.

                That’s why Harry felt the constant need to prove himself. He needed to feel worthy of the throne, in his own eyes, in the kingdom’s eyes, and most of all, in his father’s eyes.

                The prince inhaled deeply before striding out the double oak doors of his dressing room, head held high and shoulders back.

                “Has it begun?” he asked the guard stationed by the door.

                “It will soon, sir,” the man replied, and Harry nodded before walking down the corridor to join his father and mother at the balcony. It overlooked the palace square, where villagers had already converged for the ceremony. Guards lined the small wooden platform as well as all palace gates.  There was an ominous tension hanging over them in the air, subtly pressing down on Harry, making him shiver.

                “Harold,” his father greeted curtly, his eyes not once leaving the scene to face Harry. “My lord,” the prince bowed. “Mother,” he nodded at the queen, who smiled warmly in turn.

                “Good of you to join us today,” his father said with a hint of exasperation in his voice. Harry was about to answer when the king stepped forward and cleared his throat, raising his voice for all to hear and completely ignoring his son, which was pretty much equivalent to a slap to the prince’s face. “I, King Robert of Ouandire and all that dwell in it, call this ceremony into order!”

                Immediately, the kerfuffle below halted and all faces turned to look fearfully and respectfully at the royal family. Harry fought back a smirk, feeling his chest swell at the overwhelming sensation of sheer power. He completely forgot about how small he felt next to his father. He was gargantuan next to the peasants.

                A man, dressed rather ridiculously in spectacular poofy pants, Harry thought, stepped forward on the platform and raised forth a scroll. “On this fifth day of Spring, we witness the final stage of a long, grueling trial that has come to end in this decision – the execution of Tomlinson!”

                Murmurs erupted in the crowd as two guards entered the square from the dungeon tunnel, bringing forth the convicted criminal. Harry could barely hear from the balcony, but he did catch traces of dialogue in the air.

                “Too young to-“

                “-just a child!”

                His father raised an arm out over the railing. “ _Silence!_ ”

                Immediately the chatter died. Harry turned to the guards walking up to the platform, pushing the criminal roughly in front of them. He was surprised to see a teenage girl with long blonde hair, not possibly a day over the age of fifteen. He had no idea what the girl had done – he had never paid any mind to trials. However, his presence was required whenever possible during executions.

                The funnily dressed man spoke up, facing the girl and glaring cruelly. “Do you, Charlotte Tomlinson, admit that you are indeed guilty of the crime you are convicted?”

                The girl was sobbing. “It wasn’t me! I promise you, it wasn’t me!”

                Harry casually leaned forward towards his mother’s ear. “What’s she in for?” he breathed in his deep, slow voice.

                “Murder.” The prince’s jaw dropped, and he turned to look at his mother. He was surprised to see the unshed tears glistening in her eyes, and then quickly dismissed the thought. His mother had always been a soft-hearted woman with eternal compassion. His father, however, remained stony as ever.

He turned back to the girl. She looked so pure and innocent, so heartbroken and scared.

The prince’s heart clenched uncomfortably at the pure terror and desperation written all over her face. He inhaled sharply and composed himself; the prince of Ouandire would not spare any compassion for a criminal, especially a murderer.

                “Lies!” the man on the platform roared. “Seize her! Put an end to this.”

                “No!” the girl wailed, but the guards had taken her by the shoulders and marched her up to the middle, where the executioner waited patiently and drew his axe.

                “Your last words, dear?” the man asked in a deep, almost menacingly kind voice.

                The girl sat still, sobbing. Murmurs once again filled the sky. The man began to raise his axe.

                Harry tried to keep his utter horror masked, but it was futile. How could such a young girl ever have possibly killed a man? She looked tiny and weak; she had much too kind a face to even think of having such heartless intentions. She couldn’t have possibly- could she? Maybe she was framed. Maybe she was innocent.

                Harry cast a quick discreet look at his father and caught the disgusted look on the king’s face. The prince huffed, exhaling all of his frustrations at himself into the tense air, and looked on.

                It seemed as though the whole square was silent; not a breath could be heard from the horrified onlookers.

                Finally, the girl looked up at her final audience, tears still streaming down her face.

                “This kingdom is run by a vile, selfish, cruel, and evil piece of vermin,” she said, voice shaky, but loud. Harry’s eyes widened as she continued.  “And I urge you all to do something about it while you can.”

                There was a terrifying moment of overwrought silence, and then all hell broke loose. Harry wasn’t quite sure how everything had happened, because it had all happened so fast. One moment, the square was silenced into shock, and then the next, there was chaos.

                “Kill her!” the king snarled. The executioner lifted his axe above his head.

                And suddenly grew an arrow in his forearm.

                “Argh!” the man roared, dropping his axe by his foot as all chaos broke loose. The villagers swerved around to spot the assailant, but no one was seen. Suddenly the crowd parted with gasps of shock as two figures cloaked in black ran through, brandishing sharp metal blades.

                Guards immediately cornered them, but they fought them off with little to no difficulty, the large arrows suddenly sprouting from some of the guards’ limbs obviously lending them a big hand. Shouts of fury, pain, and fear echoed through the square, but the king’s voice swallowed the rest, “GET THIS SITUATION UNDER CONTROL _THIS INSTANT_!”

                Harry watched, mesmerized, as the skilled swordsmen disarmed their attackers and as they dodged and parried blows expertly. He wondered who the bloody hell they were. He wondered where the bloody hell the arrows were coming from. He wondered what the bloody hell was going on.

                He wondered why the bloody hell he wasn’t doing anything.

                The prince grabbed the railing and hoisted himself over the side, landing on the dusty ground like a lion. He ignored his mother’s frantic cries and ran straight through to the heart of the commotion, needing to save the day, needing to be the hero, and needing to prove himself.

                The villagers either ran out of the grounds or cowered in fear as the attack continued. Harry pushed through and suddenly broke out into battle, pulling his sword out of his scabbard and attacking the nearest cloaked man, swinging the sword towards his neck.

                The man whirled around at the last second and ducked under the sharp metal edge, using Harry’s own momentum against himself and pushing him to the side. Harry growled and launched himself at the man again, this time clashing swords in a painfully intricate and deadly dance.

                “Why, if it isn’t our very own Prince Harold!” His assailant spat in a hoarse, mischievous voice that only angered Harry more, before parrying a blow and overpowering Harry, nearly disarming the prince. “Aw, the little golden baby boy of Ouandire came out to play?”

                Harry lashed his sword out and the man leaped to the side and swung his sword out to counter. “Sorry, but this execution is exclusive, invites only,” the prince snarled as their swords clashed once again.

                “Oh, my deepest apologies to the hosts!” the man yelled in a mockingly courteous tone. “I didn’t mean to crash, I only wanted to see dear Lottie one last time – before I free her, that is.”

                They continued to fight, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry registered that the guards left standing were quite few. Some had fallen, some had secured the castle, some had stood by the king and queen, some had sought after the invisible archers, and only about five were left to fight by him, three of which were taking on the second man.

                But why had they left in such a hurry? Had something happened? Something caught Harry’s eye off to the balcony – and his heart leaped into his throat. In his periphery, he could see his mother laying still as his father, guards, and a medic hovered over her. Aghast, he turned to see what was wrong.

                Big mistake.

                The sword cut across his back and shoulder and he cried out in pain, and a guard immediately ran over to assist him. From his periphery he saw the cloaked man knock out the last guard with a swift blow to the head from the hilt of his sword as his comrade held the sobbing convict in his hands, signaling for them to escape.

                “No,” the prince murmured, pushing the guard away from him weakly. “M’fine, go after them! Stop them!” But more guards had arrived at the square, blocking the two swordsmen, and arrows suddenly rained from the sky. Guards started falling like snow and the cloaked figures vanished in the flurry.

                “No!” Harry yelled in distress. “Don’t let them- don’t… get… away…”

                And then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go, loves, the first chapter of Head Held High! I don't really like this chapter, to be honest, but it was necessary to get things rolling. Again, sorry if it sucks ass.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting chapter two and probably a couple more chapters as well! Do enjoy c:

CHAPTER 2

 

                “I want every inch of Ouandire scoured for those wretched bastards! Go into the Xylen Woods, go into the village, go into the mountains! I will not tolerate that unwarranted rebellion and utter disregard for respect in my kingdom!”

                Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. It was typical of his father to make this about the disrespect to his reign rather than the fact that the swordsmen and archers had wounded half the royal guard fatally. Not to mention the bandaged cuts on his own back and shoulder.

                The last hour had been spent in this meeting at the battle room, where his father had demanded to know who the attackers had been. Unfortunately, nobody knew their identities, and all their leads were cut short. The criminal – Charlotte, although often called Lottie – had no father to rescue her, neither was there a “special” male friend in her life, as far as investigations could uncover.

                 Harry was intrigued, quite intrigued indeed. He had never seen anything quite like the battle he had fought in just the day before. There were two swordsmen - two fucking swordsmen - against like fifteen guards. Fifteen highly trained and respected guards. Plus Harry. Not that the inclusion of the prince made much of a difference, except perhaps slowing the guards down, as yesterday's beautiful memory of being struck passes through his head...

                “I want a bounty on their heads! Five thousand in gold!” The king suddenly turned to the chief of the royal guard. “I want all your able men on this, now!”

                The chief’s eyes widened. “But sir,” he argued as courteously as one could, “most of my men are sporting injuries from the attack, we’re not at our full potential at the moment-“

                “Yes,” King Robert snarled, “Most of _your_ men haven’t quite recovered, have they?” Even Harry could feel the terror emanating from the chief at the other side of the table. The king suddenly raised his voice. “They were pathetic excuses of guards! You are in command, and I am not in the slightest bit impressed at your incompetence! If you want to keep your job, if you want to keep your _head_ , you bring me back the Ouandaire Warriors!”

                The chief blanched and nodded, trembling under the king's outraged scrutiny. Not that Harry could blame him. He had been on the receiving end of that infamous glare plenty of times before; he knew what it could do to your self-confidence.

                “I have gotten you help from some of David’s men,” the king added gruffly. Harry perked up.

                King David Horan of the neighboring kingdom of Ayre was King Robert’s best friend. His son, Prince Niall Horan of Ayre, also happened to be Harry’s.

                The prince was just about to tune the king out and seek out his friend when the latter suddenly rounded on him.

                “And you!” the man roared, and Harry felt his heart rate quicken. “You stay the bleeding hell out of this! Don’t you dare go gallivanting around like a hero when all you do is slow my men down! You are a shame to the Styles family name!”

                Harry felt the breath get knocked out of his lungs.

                As suddenly as he had rounded on his son, King Robert turned back to the chief and shouted more unpleasantries. Harry quickly turned away and slipped out, feeling angry and hurt tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. He wouldn't let them fall. Never. Prince Harold was stronger, better than that. He was not allowed to show weakness. Especially not to his father. His father, who had just shouted at him for being a nuisance. His father, who called him a shame to the royal family. His father, who thought Harry was virtually worthless, not at all deserving to take his place as ruler of Ouandire.

                He sighed audibly, throwing open the doors to his chamber and letting himself fall on the bed.

                A failure. That’s all he ever was in his father’s eyes. That’s all he ever will be.

                Unless he could do something about it.

               

_Later_

Harry found the bright haired prince later in the great hall, along with the knights who had traveled from Ayre to help the men track the Ouandire Warriors. The prince of Ayre was in a royal green riding cloak with his sword strapped to his waist.

                “Niall!”

                The blond quickly turned to the sound, and his face erupted into a giant grin once he found the other prince. “Harry!” he yelled back, before launching himself across the room and nearly tackling the Ouandire prince in a bear hug.

                The princes laughed. “Good to see you too, Horan,” Harry beamed, tightly squeezing the newcomer. “How’s Ayre faring?”

                The blond pulled away, his grin never leaving his face. “Quite well, actually,” he answered as they strode to Harry’s quarters. “That’s why dad agreed to help you guys out. It’s peaceful back at home, almost boring, actually, and once we learned of these Ouandire Warriors, we thought it’d be good to get back in action and help out an old friend.”

                Harry smiled. “How are David and Catalina anyway?”

                “Good. They’re both in good health, but someone has to run the kingdom.” Niall explained that the king and queen of Ayre were both back home ruling the land, but Niall had opted to travel with their knights to Ouandire to see Harry, and perhaps to lend help.

                “Are you on the mission, then?” Niall asked in curiosity, much to Harry's dismay.

                Harry’s smile was quickly replaced by a grimace. “No,” he sighed. “I had tried to fight off one of the outlaws at the execution, but they all got away. Father’s convinced I’m a hamper to the mission and has ordered me not to interfere.”

                Niall looked irked. “Well, that wasn’t your fault!”

                The brunet only frowned in reply. It _was_ his fault. He had not been good enough. He had let them get away, even distracting the last guard for the criminals. If he had only been a better warrior, a cleverer swordsman, a stronger fighter… perhaps he would have had succeeded.

                He stopped dead in his tracks and faced the other man. “Up for a bit of a spar?”

                Thus, dusk found them hours later, trying to catch their breath, their sweat glistening and swords glinting in the light of the setting sun.

                “You’ve improved much, Niall,” Harry exhaled, trying to catch his breath.

                “Not really,” the prince of Ayre grinned sheepishly as he put his armor away. “You’re just injured. Still, quite impressive, as always, I must say.”

                Harry smirked and rolled his eyes. “Not impressive enough,” he muttered under his breath, but the other prince had heard him.

                “What was that?”

                “Er, nothing.”

                The blond raised an eyebrow, completely unconvinced. “No, really, Harry, what was that?”

                That was one of things Harry had always loved about Niall. The lad could see right through him, could always tell when something was wrong, and would always do everything he could to make Harry smile again. It was just what Niall did. And Harry didn't know what he'd do without the Ayre prince.

                However, this uncanny ability was also one of the things Harry hated the most about Niall. Couldn't he ever have a thought to save for himself?

                The brunet sighed, running a hand through his sweaty curls. “I just wish it were enough for father.”

                Niall exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment before placing his gloved hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Your dad’s opinion doesn’t matter.”

                “He’s the king.”

                “You will be, soon enough. Anyway, what matters is your opinion of yourself.” Niall offered him a reassuring, warm grin, and Harry felt his heart swell with fondness for his best friend. His own lips perked up into a small smile.

                “Well, I think I’m a right incompetent bastard.”

                Niall laughed, shaking Harry a little before swinging an arm over his shoulder to steer him back into his quarters. “You are _not_ , mate,” the Ayre prince insisted happily. “Your dad is just daft.”

                Harry huffed. “Well, he’s still my father, and it would be nice to have his approval when I step up to take his place.”

                “Prove to him that you can be completely competent, then.”

                “And how do I do that?”

                “Dunno. Sit tight and obediently wait for the arrival of the knights and applaud the execution of the Ouandire Warriors?”

                Harry scoffed. “Not a chance.”

                He had never been the most obedient lad in the family. Anyway, how was he supposed to sit there and do nothing, knowing that the kingdom he would soon rule was in grave danger? How was he supposed to just let that happen and let the guards do the dirty work? Especially when he had been right there at the heart of it when the whole mess took place, when he had experienced the immensity of this problem firsthand? If Niall thought he would just allow-

                “The opposite, then.”

                The brunet stopped mid-step, his emerald eyes wide as he gazed at his best friend. “What?”

                Niall nodded, with a cheeky smirk on his face. “Go after them. Capture them. Redeem yourself.”

                Harry’s jaw dropped. Would he be able to get away with that? Would he be able to escape palace grounds, seek out the Warriors, fight and capture them, and see them executed? Would he be able to completely disregard his father’s orders, all for the sake of redeeming himself?

He brought his shocked gaze back up to the other prince’s. “You think I should?”

                Niall laughed. “Not at all,” he stated. “It’s highly dangerous, completely stupid, and utterly foolish. You’d be risking your life, going against your father’s orders, and quite possibly making a fool of yourself. It’s probably the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

                “You’re the one who said it!”

                “But we both knew you were planning it.”

                A moment of tense silence passed, the two princes staring each other down, trying to decipher one another’s intentions through their stance and body language.

                Eventually, Harry broke into a smirk. “Will you help me, then?”

                Niall threw his hands in the air with a massive sigh. “Of course I will, you complete fucking idiot.”

               

                Harry quietly peeked into his mother’s room, sneaking in as he realized she was asleep. He gazed at her beautiful pale face and sighed, taking a delicate, frail hand in his strong, warm one.

                When Harry had woken up earlier that day, he saw he had been disinfected and bandaged thoroughly. He panicked and demanded to know what had happened to the queen, and he was told that she would be all right, as it was only an arrow to the calf.

                He sighed and softly patted his mother’s bad leg, which was slightly elevated by a pillow. He smiled sadly and whispered. “Hi, mum. I’m sorry for being an idiot and not staying with you like I should have. Now I’ve ruined everything and dad trusts me no longer. But I’m going to make this right, mother. I’m going to go and get those bastards back here, and prove my father wrong.”

                He realized he was speaking up a bit, so he lowered his voice once again. “I’m going to make this up to you, mum. I’ll fix things, you’ll see. Then everything will be okay again.”

                He gently brought his mother’s hand to his lips, before pushing himself off the chair and exiting silently. He met Niall by the entrance, and together they sneaked out the door of sick bay, out the palace’s maze of corridors, out through the cellar door, and out of the palace grounds altogether, skulking through the shadows unnoticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also another sort of filler chapter. Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

                _“Why, if it isn’t our very own Prince Harold! Aw, the little golden baby boy of Ouandire came out to play?”_

_The prince snarled and lashed out his sword, causing the man to leap to the side and counter. “Sorry, but this execution is exclusive, invites only.”_

_The man almost laughed. “Oh, my deepest apologies to the host!” he mocked, doing a little bow before Harold. “I didn’t mean to crash, I only wanted to see dear Lottie one last time – before I free her, that is.”_

_Their swords continued to meet in spine-tingling metallic clashes, matching each other bout for bout as they danced. The cloaked man was beginning to feel the strain of all his battling, and he hoped with all his might that his comrade, hidden in one of the watchtowers disguised as a guard, could deliver the crucial arrow._

_There. A shriek pierced the air and majority of the guards ran over, climbing the stairs to protect their dear queen. The blow wasn’t fatal; they weren’t heartless – or at least, they weren’t stupid._

_Once the guards had started fleeing, the man could tell the prince was distracted by the chaos. He finally found the queen, lying down by the balcony, and the swordsman found a clear opening, he raised his sword, ready to slash-_

                “Louis?”

                The man was shaken out of his stupor by the girl sitting beside him on the large branch, swinging her legs over the forest floor and leaning lightly against him.

                “Hey Lottie, what’s the matter?” he asked with a soft smile, running a hand affectionately through his sister’s blonde hair.

                Lottie leaned into her brother’s warm touch. “Stan’s back from the hunt; it’ll be dinner in a bit,” she clarified. Louis sighed.

                “You should get going then.”

                Lottie pulled back to gaze at him. “What about you? Surely you’re hungry?”

                The older Tomlinson shook his head gently. He was fine. He didn’t feel like eating, or doing anything, in fact. He just wanted to lie down on the soft grass meters below him, gazing up at the moonlit canopy of the forest, and forget everything that had happened.

                Lottie’s gaze fell on the wounds on her brother’s forearms. Sensing her worry, Louis chuckled lightly. “Come on, sis, I’m okay. They’re just a few teeny tiny scratches.” He puffed out his chest. “I’m a big strong man.”

                Lottie giggled. “That you are.”

                The two sat in comfortable silence for a while, simply basking in each other’s company. Louis was once again drawn into his thoughts.

                He had put all of them in grave danger – his sister Lottie, and his best friends Stan and Zayn. What was he supposed to do, though? He couldn’t sit by and watch his sister in danger. He had had to save her. Twice now.

                The execution was the second time. It had gone successfully – the four of them had escaped with minor injuries. The game plan was flawless, after all. Zayn had been the impeccable archer, while Stan and Louis took the royal guards and, surprisingly, Prince Harold Styles himself.

                Louis caught himself smiling. Taking on the young royal had been quite enjoyable. The prince, he had to admit, was skilled with a sword. However, his movements were all too perfectly devised, too tainted by the all-too familiar Ouandire royals’ fighting style, and Louis could predict his movements without fail. Louis’ fighting style was very original, as Louis had had to learn how to fight by himself.  He hadn’t unleashed his full force, though. He had stayed on defense, parrying and countering. He knew how stupid it would be to kill the heir to the throne. He wasn’t _that_ daft.

                Still, they were all there because of him. They had set up camp deep in the heart of the Xylen Wood, on a canopy-like twine of branches just under the treetops. They had to search, hunt, and gather for food. They were on the run. They were fugitives. They were outlaws. And that was all because of him.

                And that was all because Louis had killed a man. He shuddered at the memory, quickly pushing it back into the deepest trenches of his mind.

                He had gone into hiding after the incident, of course, with the help of Stan and Zayn, who had brought him rations everyday and advised him of hiding places. However, not much later, Stan had, in a panic, told Louis that Lottie had been blamed for the man’s death, and was to be executed.

                Louis had never in his life felt anything more powerful than the fear that had overwhelmed him in that moment. His sister, his dear Lottie, was to be beheaded for a crime that he had committed. He had never really thought she would be blamed, despite the fact that she was the only known witness on the scene of the crime. He hadn’t had time to ponder, though. All he knew for sure was that he had to save her.

                He was lucky he had friends like his. Zayn and Stan had been completely on his side from the very beginning, never even doubting him or scolding him about the murder. In fact, the moment he had spilled his guilt and panic to the two, the first thing Zayn had said was, “Bloody hell, we’ve got a lot of covering up to do, mate. Don’t you worry your massive arse; Stan and I will take care of everything.”

                “I’m going to have some dinner,” Lottie said, once again shaking him out of his reverie. “You sure you don’t want any? The big strong man needs nourishment to stay a big strong man, you know.”

                Louis smiled weakly. “Don’t worry about me, Lots. Go.”

                The girl looked unconvinced, but eventually smiled back and went back to the two other men. Louis was once again left with his thoughts and with the blood on his hands.

                He hadn’t meant to kill the man. Really, he hadn’t. He was just doing what he had to do. He had to protect his family. Never mind that the man was a seriously wealthy tradesman with business for the king. Nobody messes with his little Lottie and gets away with it.

                “Hey, mate,” Stan said from behind him, and Louis looks up and smiles faintly. “Aren’t you having any dinner?”

                Louis shook his head. “I’m good.”

                “Aw, come on, Boo Bear,” the other man grinned, using Louis’ childhood nickname as he walked over to his best friend. “I worked very hard to catch this deer, you know. It put up quite fight. I nearly lost my life. You have to try it, for my effort’s sake!”

                Louis chuckled lightly, running a calloused hand through his feathery light brown hair. “I’m quite grateful for your tremendous effort, Stan, but really, I’m good.”

                Stan sighed and sat down next to him, where Lottie had been earlier. He awkwardly stared at the ground for a few moments, drumming his fingers over his thighs. Louis could practically see the gears turning in his head, the inner conflict his best mate was having. Louis was just about to ask what was wrong when Stan spoke up. “I’m a little worried about you, mate. You’ve been real quiet these last few days; it’s not like you.”

                Louis furrowed his eyebrows, taken a bit off guard. Had Louis really been acting strangely these past few days? Sure, he had been quieter and more drawn to his own thoughts, but he thought he had done a bang-up job of hiding them. He forced yet another weak smile. “I’m fine, Stan. Thanks for the concern, but I’m just a little… stressed.”

                The other man smiled, pushing his dark hair back from his face. “Yeah, we all are. I just miss happy Louis.”

                Silence enveloped the two.

                It was true, of course. Before the incident, Louis was one of the cheekiest, wittiest, funniest men of the village. He was well-known for his charm and carefree attitude, and his streak of rebelliousness had a sort of amiable air about it. People followed him everywhere, wanting to bask in his sheer joy, his eternal charismatic energy.

                He looked back at Stan, who was staring at him with such familiar, worried eyes, and Louis almost broke.

                “I’m really sorry, mate,” he breathed into the night air.

                This time, Stan was the one with furrowed brows. “What for?”

                The other man gave a mirthless smirk. “This. Messing up. Everything.”

                “It’s all been good, Lou.”

                “No, Stan, it hasn’t.” Louis’ eyes traveled to Stan’s arms, where he could just make out the long scar and several more cuts. He eyed his best friends’ ripped clothing – the warriors were all in tattered cream shirts and vests, Stan in an earthy brown, Zayn in a forest green, and Louis in a deep maroon. Lottie looked better, for she hadn’t joined any fights and had been taken care of during her time in the dungeon.

                 He sighed and turned back to his best mate since childhood. “You’re all wounded and hurt and exhausted. You’ve had to leave your families behind. For heaven’s sake, we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere, living in trees to get by! And it’s all my fault.”

                 He heard Stan sigh and turned to look at him. Stan braved a sad smile and placed his arm around Louis’ shoulders, shaking him a bit. “Mate, you’ve been my best mate since practically birth. Do you remember all the plans we made, what we promised we’d be?”

                 Louis frowned, not entirely sure what Stan was talking about. “Er…Heroes. We promised to be heroes.”

                 Stan grinned. “Exactly. We promised to be heroes. And what did we promise to have?”

                 The other man felt a grin break into his face as he reminisced the simpler times. “Adventures.”

                 “Damn right,” Stan chuckled. “And this? This has been the biggest, most amazing adventure you have ever given me. Here we are, just the two of us, with Zayn and now Lottie, against the world, living on our own terms, answering to no one but ourselves, living the renegade life. Lou, this is exactly what we wanted. This is exactly what I still want. Is it still what you want?”

                 Louis bit his lip. _Yes_ , he wanted to say so desperately, t _his is what I've always wanted._ However, his logical (and very guilty) side won over.“But at what price, Stan? Our lives?”

                 Stan sighed again. “Don’t worry about that, lad. Lottie’s fine. We’re all fine. We’ll figure this out, don’t you worry. For now, let’s just enjoy this adventure, yeah?”

                  Louis once again broke out into a grin. “Yeah.”

                  He wrapped his arms around the other man, tightly squeezing, avoiding the wounds, and he couldn’t help but think to himself how lucky he was that he had someone like Stan on his side, someone like Stan right beside him through thick and thin. Stan had been there through it all, and to be quite honest, Louis had no idea what he'd do without the lad. He was his partner-in-crime, his right hand man, his first mate, his sidekick, and Louis was all that to him as well. They were inseparable. Together, they were powerful. They were unstoppable.

                  “Thanks, mate. You’re the best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last filler chapter for tonight! Again, hope you enjoyed, and do let me know if you're interested in the continuation of this! c:


	4. Chapter 4

                “You’re the worst, Harry,” Niall grumbled, picking a leaf from his messy, nearly white hair.

                Harry rolled his eyes and smirked, turning back to face his royal best friend. “I didn’t force you to come, Ni,” he said, casually balancing on a large tree root as he walked. “You volunteered.”

                Niall grimaced, nearly slipping and landing in a small mud puddle. “Yeah, and that’s because I love you. You’re still an idiot though.”

                Harry grinned cheekily. “ _Your_ idiot, Ni, all yours.”

                It was their second day of traveling, and, initially, the adrenaline rush of the palace escape and general rebellion had kept them going. Harry was excited. He was off palace grounds with no annoying guards bumbling around. He was plunging head-first straight into something very dangerous and risky. And above all, he was disobeying his father and attempting to prove him wrong.

                Naturally, he was thrilled.

                Gradually, however, the thrill decayed and was replaced by hunger, thirst, exhaustion, confusion, and of course, the realization that what they had done was _really_ stupid.

                At that point, they were just hungry, exhausted, and lost.

                Two hours earlier, Niall had begun complaining, and Harry had brushed it off with jokes and laughter, teasing Niall about being weak, but inside, he shook his head at their foolhardy gall.

                “We don’t even know where to start,” Niall groaned in his thick accent. “We have no leads whatsoever. We know nothing apart from the murderer’s name!”

                “That’s as good a start as any,” a deep voice hummed from behind them. Harry and Niall’s wide terrified eyes met for a fraction of a second, before they spun around, pulling their swords out of their scabbards and pointing them at the stranger.

                The man was tall and well-built, with caramel, cropped hair and dark eyes. He was in chainmail and an emerald tunic – the official attire of the knights of Ayre. _So he was on the mission_ , Harry thought. _This isn’t good. They couldn’t be caught. He could rat them out!_

                “Sir Payne?” Niall asked in surprise, his brows furrowed as he lowered his weapon. Harry kept his own up, intense glare still burning into the newcomer’s eyes. The Ayre prince smiled. “What are you doing here?”

                The knight smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I should ask the same of you.”

                _This is it then. He’s going to take us back to the castle. It’s over. I was stupid and daft and idiotic and now father’s going to have me beheaded for going against his orders._

_All I did was prove him right._

                Niall blushed, and then held his hand out to Harry. “It’s all right, mate, he’s a friend. Harry, meet Sir Liam Payne of Ayre. Liam, meet Prince Harry Edward Styles of Ouandire.”

                The knight bowed low on his knee, and Harry warily lowered his sword. He didn’t know this Liam. What if he was a traitor? What if he would bring them back to the castle, back to Harry’s furious father?

                “Why are you here alone?” Harry demanded, unable to keep the suspicious edge from his voice. “Where are the others?”

                Liam looked down at his feet, his friendly smile vanishing into a frown. “I was, er – I was kicked off the mission.”

                Ah. So he was kicked off the mission. Now, Harry supposed, the shamed knight could redeem himself by bringing the two missing princes back to the palace. Harry’s free hand curled into a tight fist. _Not if I can do anything about it._

                Niall’s jaw dropped. “What? Why the bloody hell? You’re one of my father’s best men!”

                Liam laughed bitterly. “That is, apparently, not true.”

                Niall stepped forward. “Explain.”

                The lost knight sighed. “I had simply offered advice to my chief-in-command,” he explained, shuffling his weight from foot to foot. “He took it as an insult to his authority.”

                “Preposterous!” The blond exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air. “Who is this chief-in-command?”

                Liam looked away, a blush creeping into his face. “Unimportant.”

                “No, Liam, it’s very important. Tell me. I command you.”

                The two bickered on for quite a bit more, and Harry scrutinized the knight. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a sturdy build, like a true, well-trained knight. He exuded chivalry and kind-heartedness, which Harry approved of. Some knights were just arrogant, selfish little bastards.

                "Liam," Niall said in exasperation. "Just tell us."

                The knight's gave traveled to the earth beneath his feet, and huffed in defeat, still refusing to meet any of the princes’ eyes. He took a moment to think it through. Harry could see the hesitation on his face. Finally, Liam looked up and answered, not a quiver in his voice. “The good King Robert of Ouandire.”

                Niall’s eyes widened. His eyes flitted over to his best friend, who was being stonily silent, glaring at the ground as though it was one of the Ouandire Warriors.

                So his father was on the mission. That must have meant that the situation was far direr than Harry had thought. The king himself had extracted himself from the palace to personally capture, torture, and kill the outlaws, no doubt. Had the king even noticed his own son’s disappearance? Probably not.

                Harry, struggling to contain his fury by balling his hands into fists by his sides, finally raised his eyes to the knight. His tone was murderously calm as he spoke. “What did you say to him? I demand to know.”

                The knight looked terrified. He cleared his throat and gave a small bow of apology, causing Harry to roll his eyes. “I had just told him to recheck the Tomlinson home, this time, more discreetly. He asked me if I was questioning his power and threw me out.”

                Harry swallowed. It was utterly daft. It was outrageous. He wanted nothing more than to knock some sense into the absurd man with a few swift punches to the gut. Who did he think he was? Just because he had some fancy title did not mean he could do that!

                “My father is an insolent man,” he said through gritted teeth, and the knight stared at him in shock. It was true. King Robert was selfish, arrogant, and much too proud for his own good. It would be the best moment of Harry's life to see the look on his face when he sees who had saved the day – the son he never believed in, the prince from Ayre he always thought never took anything seriously, and the knight he had kicked off the mission. “What do you think of joining our own party, Sir Payne?”

                The knight beamed in surprise, but then it disappeared into a look of confusion. “Hold on. What exactly are you two doing off palace grounds anyway?”

                Sighing, the princes began to explain. Harry told the knight of his battle with the warriors, how he had failed dismally, and how disappointed and furious his father was. Niall told him that Harry wanted to prove the king wrong, to prove that he was the perfect role model for princes everywhere, and to prove himself worthy of the throne. They both told him of their plan to capture the Warriors and bring them back themselves.

                In turn, Liam told them of his plan. Because all their leads were cut short, they had to retrace their steps slowly and keep a look out for anything they were unable to pick up previously. They couldn’t just keep stumbling blindly around in the woods looking for fresh tracks as though they were hunters stalking their dinner. This meant that they had to return to the Tomlinson household – disguised.

                “As what?” Harry had demanded.

                “A weary traveler,” the knight responded as they walked through the woods, basking in the shafts of sunlight that pierced through the leaves. “One of us would have to pretend to be an innocent man on a journey, looking for a place to stay overnight, and while there, he would search for any hints.”

                “That’s brilliant!” Niall exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. Harry was a little less enthusiastic.

                “There’s just one problem,” Liam told the princes seriously. “You two are the princes of two of the biggest kingdoms in the land. You’d be recognized easily.”

                Niall and Harry shared a look, twin-like smirks spreading across their faces.

               

 

 

                Thus, there Liam stood on the porch of the Tomlinson home, in clothes a size too small for him, looking entirely out of place and uncomfortable.

                Harry and Niall crouched behind a line of barrels two meters away. Harry was in Liam’s chainmail and armor, looking just as ridiculous as the knight.

                “Too noble,” Niall hissed loudly. “Look weary, Liam!”

                “Got it,” he hissed back, slouching in exaggeration, and Harry just had to run a hand over his face.

                He turned to his best friend. “This Liam guy – can we trust him?”

                Niall looked at him with his sincere blue eyes and nodded. “Relax, mate, he’s one of my best friends back at the castle – he’s just as rebellious as you and me, always stealing more food from the kitchens to share on our secret night adventures.”

                Color soared to Harry’s cheeks. “Niall, I do not want to hear about your _secret night adventures_ with Sir Payne.”

                Niall blanched, his eyes wide as saucers. “No, I didn’t mean- not like that- I just-“

                Harry quickly clamped a hand over the blond’s mouth. “Hush, someone’s at the door!”

                “Good evening, madam!” they heard Liam say, in much too formal a voice to be a peasant nomad.

                “Too noble,” Niall coughed subtly.

                “Er, do you’s gots a room for a little ol’ brotha like me?” Liam slurred, leaning heavily against the doorframe. Harry nearly banged his head on the barrel in exasperation.

                “ _Don’t overdo it!”_ he hissed.

                “Sorry, it’s not a good time,” an older woman’s voice cut through the night and the princes stilled. She was about to close the door, but Liam leaned against the frame.

                “Please, madam,” the knight pleaded courteously. “I’ve got no shelter, no food, no water, nothing but the clothes on my back. All I ask is a place to stay for one short night.”

                 The woman looked contemplative. She looked tired and worn out, not at all in any fit shape to help a weary traveler, but Harry could still see the mercy shining in her eyes. Suddenly, though, her eyes hardened, and she closed her eyes.

                 There was a silence, and Harry stopped breathing. It wasn’t going to work. It would all have been useless, and they were back to square one, right where they had begun-

                “All right, then.” 

                The princes exhaled a silent sigh of relief and peered between the barrels quietly to see Liam nod in gratitude and enter the house, shooting them a secret thumbs up as the woman closed the door behind him.

                Niall cleared his throat. “Now what?”

                Harry sighed. “We set up camp.”

 

 

                Liam entered the house and looked around as innocently as he could, his eyes going over the small dining table and kitchen. There were three girls at the table, gazing up at him in surprise and confusion. Two were very young, quite obviously twins, while the other was a bit older, probably a young teen.

               “Mum,” the older one asked. “Who’s this?”

               “I was about to ask the same thing,” her mother said, turning to Liam, who gave them all a nervous, albeit friendly, smile.

               “Hello, girls, I am sir- I mean, er, I’m George. George Harrison,” he mumbled quietly. The girls continued to stare at him in wonder. “Er, I am a traveler from Ayre, and your mother has been ever so compassionate as to give me a roof over my head for just one night, then in the morning, I’ll be on my way again. I hope I’m not a bother or anything.”

               There was a moment of silence as Liam waited with held breath.

               The oldest daughter broke the awkward silence first. “I’m Fizzy,” she said, finally offering him a sad smile. “These are Phoebe and Daisy, and you’ve met our mother, Jay.”

               “Johanna,” the mother corrected sternly. She turned back to Liam. “Well, George, what would you like for supper? All we have is soup, I’m sorry, it’s all we can manage right now.”

               Liam shook his head with wide eyes, his chivalrous upbringing shining through. “Not necessary at all, madam, I’m enough a burden as it is,” he assured. He gave them a solemn, apologetic look. “You look like you’re having a tough time right now.”

              There was a collective sigh in the room, before the twins wordlessly took off into their mother’s bedroom, never once cracking a smile. Liam winced at his tactlessness. The family did look absolutely crushed. The house was tiny and dirty and old and ruined, but nothing was sadder than the Tomlinsons' faces. Liam could tell they used to be such a happy, healthy family, from the smile crinkles by their mothers' eyes and their ease around each other. But it looked almost as though the hope had completely flickered out of their eyes.

              Liam couldn't believe what this family had been through. He couldn't bring himself to even consider that they deserved it.

              Fizzy sighed again.

              “Sorry about that,” she whispered, standing up to face Liam. “We’re just – it’s been difficult lately. I assume you’ll be taking Louis’ room?”

               Liam’s eyebrows shot up. “Louis? Who’s Louis?”

               Fizzy opened her mouth to answer, but Johanna quickly cut over her. “No one,” she assured. “Fizzy, go to your room. George, follow me.”

               Perhaps Louis was the father Lottie no longer had?

               Liam guardedly followed the two upstairs and Fizzy gave him a smile before disappearing into her own bedroom. Johanna led him into a small bedroom with a thin mattress.

               “I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” Johanna said shortly before disappearing.

               Liam took the chance to look around. The room was completely empty, except for the mattress. It was tiny, much like everything else in the tiny house. It was dirty, too. Dust lined the floor, and cobwebs were gathered at each tight corner. The only interesting thing had been the blade marks on the wooden walls – fairly new, so whoever this “Louis” was could not have been gone for too long.

              Liam narrowed his eyes. Louis had obviously left the family not too long ago. He had a sword and knew how to use it, as indicated by slashes along the wall. It was a rather touchy subject for the family, too. All of it very slowly flew into place, but none of it had quite clicked just yet.

              His suspicions were interrupted as the door creaked open and in popped Fizzy’s head.

              “Hello,” Liam greeted. The girl raised a finger to her lips, and then quietly stepped into the room, gently shutting the door behind her.

              “How may I help you?” Liam asked quietly. Fizzy raised her eyes up to his, and the knight was completely taken aback by the sheer sadness in them. They looked like they had the energy sucked out of them. They looked fragile and broken, much too broken to belong to such a young girl. And then she broke down crying.

               Panicked, Liam rushed over to her and placed his large hands on her shoulders. “Fizzy? Fizzy, love, what’s wrong?”

               The girl hiccupped, and then gave a weak laugh. “I’m sorry,” she said, furiously wiping away tears with the back of her hand. “I’m so sorry. It’s just that you remind me so much of him.”

                Liam furrowed his brows, his heart clenching at her trembling voice. “Of who?”

                Fizzy took a deep breath and tore her gaze away from the knight, looking instead at the moon through the room’s tiny open window. “Of Louis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, another fairly boring chapter. Sorry about that. I don't really like how this one turned out.  
> I promise you, there'll be more drama and action next chapter, 'cause that's where the real fun starts!


	5. Chapter 5

 

                “Well?” Harry demanded as he paced impatiently. Niall stood to the side, arms crossed as he waited for Liam’s answer, much more patiently than Harry did. The latter then rounded on the knight seated on the tree stump in front of him. “Did you find anything?”

                Liam sighed, pushing his chestnut hair back. He thought back to the previous night, which, apparently, Harry and Niall had spent on “the most uncomfortable patch of earth in the world.” He, on the other hand, had spent it at the modest Tomlinson home, searching for clues that might lead them to their outlaws. Oh, he got his clues, all right, but he also found something else. He also found that the family was shattered. Exhausted. Heartbroken. Kind. “The Tomlinsons are quite a nice family. They’re very kindhearted.”

                “I don’t care!” Harry roared, causing Liam to flinch. “Did you find anything important? Any new leads?”

                Prince Harold was a fine young lad, nobody could deny it. Liam, however, had seen plenty of faults in the young royal. He was slightly arrogant and proud. He seemed to take pleasure in belittling those “inferior” to him. He found ways to get what he wanted – completely disregarding anyone else affected.

                But Liam could also see the contempt for the king in Harry’s eyes. It wasn’t the usual angst-ridden teenager contempt, either. It was contempt bred from hurt, contempt that had sprouted from wounds. Liam wanted to help him.

                He sighed and closed his eyes.

 

                _“Of Louis,” Fizzy breathed._

_Liam’s eyebrows nearly reached his hairline. This was much easier than he had expected. He softened his gaze and followed the girl towards the window, glancing up at the starlit sky. “Who is Louis? Is he your father?”_

_Fizzy almost laughed. “No, but he might as well have been.”_

_The knight was more confused than ever, but he had to mask his curiosity and interest with compassion. He turned back to the girl, keeping his voice light and comforting. “Tell me about him. It might help.”_

_Fizzy sighed. It looked like she was having a hard time trying to hold back tears. Liam couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand her grief-stricken, vulnerable face. He couldn’t stand seeing that grief everywhere he looked in that house, in everyone’s eyes, in the nooks and crannies. They were such a kind bunch. He was just about to give up and tell her not to say anything if she didn’t want to, when she spoke._

_“Louis was – is my brother,” she said so softly that Liam almost hadn’t heard her. His thoughts were silenced and his heart rate quickened at this newfound discovery. “I don’t – I don’t know what happened to him,” the girl continued, and suddenly tears flowed out from her eyes again. “I think – I think he’s – he’s dead.”_

_The knight frowned. A dead brother couldn’t rescue Lottie from execution. And… had Lottie killed her own brother? Liam was horrified by the thought. “Please elaborate,” he said, and then quickly added, “I mean, if it’s okay with you.”_

_Fizzy waved her hand in the air. “No, no, it’s fine. You’re right. Talking about it should help,” she said, once again trying to compose herself. Liam was pleased that she didn’t seem at all suspicious of his motives. Fizzy continued, “The last time I saw him was the night he and Lottie  went out for a walk – the night of the alleged murder.”_

_Goosebumps rose on Liam’s arms. He was getting so close to the information he needed, he could practically taste it on the tip of his tongue. He waited patiently for Fizzy to continue._

_“You see, Lottie had come home alone and in hysterics. She was sobbing and she looked quite shaken, but she wouldn’t tell us what had happened to Louis. Every time we mentioned him, she would just start wailing._

_That was when we realized something was horribly wrong. I just – we never saw Louis again,” she cried, shoulders heaving and head buried into her trembling hands, and Liam very awkwardly wrapped an arm around her shoulders._

_“There, there,” he hummed. “I’m sure he’s fine…”_

_Fizzy sobbed. “I think – I’m going to be honest here,” she hiccupped, and Liam’s heart once again picked up at a possible hint. “I think he got into a fight with the murdered man, and that they had killed each other. No one bothered to find his body, though, because he wasn’t as important as that rich bloke.”_

_Liam considered this. It was possible, given the elitist and discriminating ways of their society, but he had had some other ideas in mind. What if Louis was on the run, being a witness? Maybe he was even the murderer! And then, once he learned his sister was getting the blame, he had come to rescue her?_

_What if Louis was one of the Ouandire Warriors?_

_Fizzy’s soft, broken voice jarred him out of his thoughts. “Things haven’t been easy on our family since,” she mumbled. She looked so lost and vulnerable in that moment. Liam realized how wounded she was after everything that had happened._

_“Louis was the kindest, funniest, most loving brother ever. He stepped up and led the family because dad left. He did everything he could for us. He was just – he was amazing,” she broke out into a new wave of sobs. “I love him so much. And now Lottie’s gone, too, and we don’t know who has her, and if they find her, she’s going to be executed! I-I don’t know what’s going to happen then. This family would just fall apart.”_

_Liam couldn’t breathe. The Tomlinsons were such warm, kind souls. They didn’t deserve everything that had happened to them. Perhaps it had all been a mistake._

_“Why do you think your brother would start a fight, anyway?” he asked softly, trying not to be intrusive. He was sincere though. He hadn’t meant to be, not really. He was surprised at the sincerity in his voice, in fact._

_Fizzy looked up at Liam with such wide, innocent, and broken eyes, that the knight could physically feel his lungs constricting. “Louis would never start a fight without good reason,” she said, and although her voice was weak, the passion with which she believed in her words was intense. “He’d never. He taught me how to skip stones in the lake, and always made sure I was safe. He even did my hair up in pretty braids when the other girls tell me I’m not pretty enough. He always knew how to make me laugh and smile, even when everything was going to hell. God, I just – I just really miss him, George.”_

_Liam’s heart clenched at her words. The impossible love and admiration for her brother were clearly evident, she had just poured all of it out for Liam to see and feel. Liam could not believe such a man would ever kill anyone. Not after all the nice things he had done for his family. He meant too much to them, and he was probably aware of that. He seemed wise enough not to completely fuck their lives up by making a mistake of these gargantuan proportions. He couldn’t have possibly committed a murder – could he?_

_“I’m sorry,” Fizzy sobbed._

_“Sh, it’s all right,” Liam said, gently stroking her hair. “Everything will be okay. That’s a promise.”_

                “And that’s pretty much it,” Liam concluded, massaging his temples. Harry and Niall, who had been listening intently with wide eyes, suddenly broke into grins.

                “Then this Louis lad – he must be one of them!” Niall cheered, ecstatic to finally have found a clue.

                “Must be,” Harry agreed, with a dangerous glint in his eye as he beamed. “We should ask around about this Louis Tomlinson. We should get all the information about him. We’ll go into the village, ask his mates-“

                “Oh right, about that,” Liam cut in, pushing himself off the log. “His two best mates are missing too.”

                Niall gaped, and then pumped a fist in the air. “We’ve got them! They’re our Warriors!”

                Harry high-fived his fellow prince, and proceeded to join him in a silly celebratory dance. “Oh, I can’t wait to get my hands on them!” Harry chortled as they skipped around one another.

                “To bring them justice!” Niall guffawed.

                “To see the look on father’s face!”

                “ To watch them being dragged to the execution platform!”

                “To see the shame and regret on their faces!”

                “To watch their heads sliced clean off their necks!”

                “To see the look on their families’ faces when-“

                “All right, _stop!_ ”

                The princes froze, one foot still in the air as they stared at the knight who had suddenly burst into a roar of outrage. Liam looked beyond pissed. He shot the royals a withering glare before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. When he opened them again, his chocolate brown eyes seemed calmer, and the princes relaxed.

                “Look,” Liam exhaled sharply, pacing in front of them. “I get it, okay? I get how they’re horrible criminal outlaws who need to be dealt with, but they’re human beings, too! You can’t just rejoice and celebrate their deaths when you don’t even know them!”

                Niall furrowed his brows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

                Liam sighed greatly and slumped back down onto the tree stump. “All I’m saying is, maybe they’re good people,” he said softly. “Maybe they deserve a chance.”

                Harry scoffed. “Good people? Payne, they’re harboring a murderer! They infiltrated palace grounds! They wounded me! _They shot my mum_! They’re disgusting vermin, the lowest of scum, and they sure as hell _don’t deserve anything_!”

                The Ouandire prince continued glaring daggers at the knight, his shoulders rising and falling as he took deep breaths. The knight looked a little scared, but knights never back down. Niall stood beside the two, avoiding their glares, looking confused and helpless.

                Liam breathed a sigh and tried again. “The Tomlinsons are good people, Prince Harold,” he mumbled gently, trying not to provoke the riled up royal. “They’re kind and loving and they spoke so highly of Louis, I honestly don’t think he’d hurt a fly.”

                “Well, this fly’s hurt.” Harry seethed.

                “They don’t deserve all the burden put on them because of this.”

                “I don’t deserve the problems that have arisen because of them.”

                “They’re suffering so much, and they’re so k-“

                “Kind, yes, we’ve established that,” Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. “That is none of my business. My business involves the crimes committed by the two siblings, plus their friends. It’s probably their fault anyway, for getting into this mess, for raising such disrespectful children with no ethics.”

                This time, Niall stepped in. “Calm down, mate,” he said, soothing Harry with a pat on the back as he approached. “I’m with you on this; they definitely deserve punishment. But let’s not take it out on Liam, yeah? He’s just too much of a compassionate, chivalrous little wanker,” he winked at the knight, who rolled his eyes. Niall turned back to Harry with a smirk. “And you’re not exactly in any position to reprimand ‘disrespectful children with no ethics,’ having sneaked out of the palace right under your dad’s nose, you know.”

                Despite himself, Harry laughed, swinging an arm heavily around his best mate. “Touché.”

                Liam huffed, but then smiled warmly as he stood up. “I’m sorry, your highness,” he said to Harry, bowing slightly. “I just can’t believe such a nice family would have to go through all this. Regardless, we’re on a mission of justice. Are you lot ready to find these Warriors?”

                The princes smirked. “You bet.”

                And they might have gotten far, had Niall not fallen down.

                “Niall, you big piece of- oh bugger.”

                And they might have gotten far, had Niall not tripped and fallen over a dead body.

                “That’s… that’s a palace guard.”

                And they might have gotten far, had Niall not tripped and fallen over a dead body from the royal mission.

 

               

                “Lottie!” a frantic voice cut through the peace the young woman had enveloped herself in. “Lottie, we have to go! _Now!”_

                The girl scrambled up from the makeshift tent they had deemed their shelter for a few nights, when her bleeding brother suddenly burst into the clearing, followed by a frantic Zayn and a staggering Stan.

                “What happened?” she demanded as the three hurriedly began packing all their things, all their evidence. She quickly sprang into action, fear gripping her heart as she ripped the tent apart and stuffed it into a pack. She sneaked a glance at her brother, and the sight stabbed her.

                There was a cut near his temple that was bleeding profusely, and multiple wounds on his arms, which Lottie could see clearly through the torn fabric of his sleeves. She glanced at Zayn, who looked much better, probably because he was a long-distance fighter, being an archer, and thus hadn’t had to really enter physical combat. Finally, she looked at Stan, and bit back a gasp.

                There was a gash in his side, oozing dark red into his vest, along with the many other wounds peppering his body. He was glistening in his sweat as he tried to stuff all their belongings into a pack. His face was contorted in pain, and Lottie could feel herself getting weak.

                She realized her hands had frozen and were now trembling. She clumsily tied up her pack and once again turned to Louis. “Lou, please, what happened?”

                Louis shakily tied up his own pack and turned to her, and Lottie could see the fear and pain and anger and hatred all set aflame in her brother’s eyes. He took a deep breath to steady himself. “They found us. Some of them found us. We took care of them, but it’s not safe here, we have to get out.”

                Lottie launched herself towards him, letting all her fear propel her forward, and gave him a quick hug, immediately pulling back when she heard his sharp intake of breath. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Lou, where are we going to stay now? We haven’t got- we’re just- I’m so scared, Lou, I’m so scared!”

                She had broken into tears and this time, Louis was the one who approached. He gently held her clammy body in his arms, stroking her hair soothingly and pressing his lips to her forehead as he tightly shut his eyes. “Calm down, Lots,” he whispered. “I promised I’d save you. I’m not backing out of that now.”

                 Lottie Tomlinson trusted her brother very much, with all her heart. He had always been there when no one else was. He had always been there to hold her in the dark, to make her burst into laughter when she felt like bursting into tears, to intimidate anyone who had ever tried to hurt her. She trusted him. She trusted him with her life. There was no reason to be afraid.

                Lottie steadied herself with a calming breath, but she never got to reply, because the next instant, Stan had let out a cry of pain and crumpled to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Action's finally beginning, yay! Please please please leave some kudos or a comment to let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait! These past few weeks have been sheer hell and torture! I'll try updating more frequently, but I still have a whole fuckload of work to do in the upcoming weeks, so no promises :c Anyway, here's the long overdue chapter 6!

CHAPTER 6

                Blood.

                It soaked through Stan’s shirt. It darkened the soil and seeped into the earth. It stained Louis’ skin. It filled his mind.

                _“Stan!”_

                Louis wasn’t entirely sure how he had crossed the clearing and knelt at Stan’s side in two seconds. He wasn’t sure how Zayn had managed to pick up all of the packs and run over to his two best mates. He wasn’t sure if it was Lottie screaming, or some random distant traveler deep into the woods, at the back of his mind.

                He was sure, however, of how pale Stan was, how starkly the scarlet blood contrasted with his ivory skin.

                “Stan, we have to get out of here right now,” Louis stammered, pushing his best mate up into a sitting position. “Come on, mate, let’s go!”

                He was sure of the fear and pain set ablaze in his best mate’s wide eyes.

                “Stan, the knights are coming,” he said as Stan leaned heavily against him. “Stan, come on, you’re all right, I’ve got you, you’re fine!”

                He was sure of his own pain and fear clawing away at his lungs.

                “Stan, please!” he pleaded, shaking his best friend, who was now struggling to breathe, coughing and sputtering blood. “Stan, _please,_ God, Stan! _Stan!”_

                He was sure of Stan’s shaky, faint voice, barely audible in his ear.

                “You have to go, Lou,” he coughed weakly. “You have to go. I can’t make it.”

                “ _No!_ ”

                He was sure of Zayn’s hands firmly grabbing his arms and pulling him back as he struggled against his tight grip.

                “Lou, we have to go, mate-“

                _“No! Stan! Stan, I’m not leaving you!”_

He was sure of Stan’s eyes rolling to the back of his head.

                _“No! No! Stan! Don’t do this, Stan, fuck, no! STAN!”_

He was sure of the frantic, broken sobs escaping him, his chest heaving as tears rolled down his muddy, bloodstained face.

                “Stan, we have to go. Stan. Stan, this isn’t funny.”

                He was sure of the choked back sobs in Zayn’s voice as he pulled Louis up.

                “Lou, we have to go.”

                “I’m not leaving him, Zayn, I can’t leave him, don’t make me leave him, please!”

                “We have to go _now,_ mate-“

                “Don’t make me do this, Zayn, don’t make me leave him, I can’t, Zayn, this isn’t happening, Zayn! Stan! _Stan!_ ”

                He was sure of Lottie’s sobs, her arms wrapping around her brother’s neck as he clutched her tightly to him.

                “We have to go, Louis, we have to go.”

                “Lottie, Stan’s…Stan’s…”

                He was sure of Zayn finally breaking into tears.

                “He’s _gone_ , Lou.”

                He was sure of his world falling apart as Zayn finally dragged him away.

                “ _Stan! No! We were supposed to be heroes! You promised! YOU FUCKING PROMISED! What about our adventures? Don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare leave me, Stanley! STAN!”_

                He was sure his best mate was dead.

 

 

 

                “There they are,” Liam mumbled behind the bush.

                They had finally caught up to some of the knights of Ouandire and Ayre.  They had followed them to their campsite for the night, a small clearing in the woods. The trio was currently hidden behind shrubbery at the edge of the clearing, covertly listening in to what the knights were saying.

                “Those Warriors sure put up a good fight,” one muttered bitterly as he took a bite out of his turkey leg. “To think there’s only three of them. I thought they were a little army.”

                The trio’s eyes widened at the newfound discovery.

                “Did you see that swordsman, though?” another knight, probably younger than the first, said in sheer awe. “I’ve never seen anyone fight like him! I reckon he’s unbeatable!”

                The first one scoffed. “He’s good,” he said gruffly, “but we can take ‘im. He took down some of our men, and now it’s our turn to avenge them. Just wait ‘till I get my hands on that scum… I’ll rip his fucking throat out.”

                Harry felt a shiver run through his spine at the pure loathing in the man’s voice.

                There were only three warriors. That means two swordsmen, and one archer, Tomlinson and his two best mates. It was just them and the murderer alone.

                It was unthinkable.

                “How’s the situation at the palace?” a third voice shook him out of his awe and – was that fear?

                Harry scoffed to himself. He was not afraid of anything.

                “Not good. The Queen’s losing it. There’s still no sign of the princes anywhere.”

                Niall and Harry shared a wide-eyed look.

                “Where’d you reckon those two royal pains escaped to, anyway?” a knight asked as he finished setting up his tent. “And why?”

                Another laughed. “Maybe they’re star-crossed lovers who ran away to finally be together at last.”

                Harry felt color soar to his cheeks and Niall almost burst out laughing. Luckily, Liam had had the common sense to clamp a hand over the blond prince’s mouth before he could give away their location. Harry rolled his eyes and quickly stood up, brushing himself off, still under the cover of the shrubbery and shadows.

                “Let’s go,” he mumbled, ignoring the jeers and laughter from the knights who had no idea he was there.

                Liam silently nodded and followed him further away from the clearing, and Harry thanked his lucky stars that the knight was the serious and mature kind.

                It wasn’t really the embarrassment that got under the prince’s skin, though. He and Niall, lovers? Prepostrous! He’d never let anything so utterly absurd get to him. What got under his skin was the unbridled guilt that ate away at his chest, the guilt that clogged up his throat.

                He had left his mother in her injured state, and she was probably going insane with worry. Maybe he should have just listened to his father and stayed safely out of the way. Maybe if he had, then the Warriors would have been captured and beheaded by now. Maybe he should just give up.

                He turned to look at his two companions. Prince Niall was humming a light tune as they walked further into the woods, a slight skip in his step. Thank the heavens he had someone as optimistic and happy as Niall with him. If the blond prince hadn’t been there, Harry was sure he would have already gone mad. But Niall had agreed to help him immediately, despite the fact that he knew it was stupid and dangerous and beyond risky.

                Liam was quiet. Harry had come to know the silent knight more. He kept a cool head under pressure, and he knew more about travelling in the woods than the princes did, since usually they had escorts to accompany them. He was the wisest decision-maker and he hadn’t even judged them for going against the king’s orders and setting off on their own.

                Despite the knight’s painfully, much too merciful heart (the Tomlinsons deserved everything that had happened to them, having raised a murderer and outlaw!), Harry was glad to have him around as well.

                Niall and Liam, although total opposites, shared the same look in their eyes – pure determination. And Harry knew he couldn’t give up. Not on them. Not on his mother’s trust in him. Not on proving the king wrong. Not on capturing the Ouandire Warriors. Not on himself.

                He cleared his throat and the two immediately snapped their heads up to meet his determined eyes. “I think we should continue on, just for tonight,” he said to them. “It’s too risky to set up camp too close to the guards, and we’ll be able to get a good head start on them.”

                Niall nodded fervently, but Liam looked unsure. “Your highness,” he said, with respect and doubt in conflict in his words, “You have good points, but this is the Xylen Wood, sir. Even camping out is potentially dangerous, let alone travelling.”

                Niall laughed. “We’re armed with sword and skill, Sir Payne,” he said, a smug smirk on his face as he hopped over a particularly gnarled root. “I think we’ll be able to protect ourselves.”

                Harry opened his mouth to agree with Niall, but before he could, a hand roughly pulled him back; holding his wrists firmly to his back, and a knife was very barely grazing his throat.

 

 

 

                Everything was falling. Everything sucked. Everything was so fucking wrong.

                Louis tore through the woods, allowing his mind to implode with his deafening thoughts. He shot through the forest, his silhouette becoming a mere shadowy blur streaking through the shafts of moonlight that fell through to the earth between the leaves and branches. He ran and ran and ran, leaving the campsite behind.

                It had been two days since their narrow escape.

                It had been two days since Stan’s death.

                That first night had been horrible. Louis was positively murderous. He had slashed at everything in sight, all the while with Zayn following him, yelling at him to calm the fuck down or the knights will find them. Louis had left them a line of evidence after all, having practically branded the forest as his with all the sword marks on the trunks and fallen branches.

                He and Stan were supposed to be heroes adventuring through the woods, causing mayhem for the evil and laughter to the good. He and Stan were supposed to make it out of that mess, alive and well. They were supposed to grow up and look back at all their wild antics, and share a good laugh as they reminisced.

                He wasn't supposed to  _die._

He wasn't allowed to just leave him like that.

                It wasn't fair.

                He wasn't allowed to.

                He had nearly ruined an entire quarter of the woods when Zayn had caught up to him, catching him by the shoulder and quite roughly pulling him back. The swordsman had spun around, pointing the tip of his blade to Zayn’s throat, stormy, glinting sky blue eyes meeting scared hazel.

                Louis had seen the fear and worry in the archer’s eyes then, and his grip slackened. Zayn was his only best mate now, and he couldn’t afford to let anything in the world hurt him, especially not himself. The sword clattered to the earth as Louis fell to his knees, finally allowing himself to break down.

                Zayn had immediately forgotten his own fear and ran to his best mate, pulling the sobbing man to his chest and resting his chin on his feathery caramel hair. Louis had tried to push him away, telling him he was dangerous, he was out of his mind, he didn’t want to hurt him, but Zayn was unrelenting, and he only held the broken boy tighter.

                “Shut up, Louis,” the archer had whispered into his ear. “Breathe. Just let it out. I’m here. I’m right here.”

                And that was all it took for Louis to stop pushing Zayn away and instead clutch onto his shoulders like a lifeline, nails digging into his skin.

                Louis ran and ran. He had left Zayn and Lottie at their campsite for the night, needing time to be alone. He knew better now, though. He knew how stupid and dangerous it was to leave a trail of destroyed trees in his wake, and he didn’t need to put his dear sister and best mate in any more danger than he already had. He ran, falling over twice, and nearly tripping over roots, rocks, and logs infinitely more.

                This was all his fault. If he hadn’t been such a fuck-up… If he hadn’t been so stupid…

                And that was when he saw them.


End file.
